


Hard Knock Night

by SamStartsARiot



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, M/M, Mental Illness, One Shot, Recreational Drug Use, STUPID FUCKING PANCAKES APPARENTLY, Sadstuck, Self Harm, Weed, bad nights, davekat - Freeform, need i say more, self injury, stupid fucking pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 10:05:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2503895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SamStartsARiot/pseuds/SamStartsARiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some nights are beautiful and perfect and happy, and you spend them on the couch together, watching stupid movies and throwing popcorn in each other's faces. Some nights are quiet and sweet, hours spent simply enjoying each other's company. Some nights are just nights, passing by and easily forgotten because they just aren't special, and that's what great about them.</p>
<p>Some nights are hard though, with gritted teeth, clenched hands, and itching skin. Some nights are too hard to handle by yourself. Some nights are like this one, but it's okay because you are not fighting alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hard Knock Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is about Bad Nights, and it contains talk of self harm, so if that's something that could be triggering to you then proceed with caution.

The second you wake up you already know it's going to be a Bad Day. You know this because you kind of feel like shit already even though aren't even really awake yet. So instead of doing anything about it you turn your light back off, sleep for another few hours because there's no point in getting up. As for the rest of the day? You'll spend it on your laptop in bed trying to ignore your nagging thoughts, or else hiding out behind your house with a pipe and lighter to take the edge off. The sense of routine that's involved isn't a coincidence, you spend a lot of days this way. You are okay, you follow your routine and you are okay.

Until the night comes in like a thief and takes your breath. Suddenly it hurts that you even exist and your skin screams out. So easy, so easy, so easy, so easy. It would be so very easy to give in to this. You're alone in the house. Bro is away on a business trip for a few days, nobody would ever have to know. Your brother, intuitive though he is, will not sense where your blood hit the floor, you never leave stains. You _need_ this. 

But your boyfriend.

Your beautiful boyfriend who only wants the best for you, who loves you so deeply. Karkat will know that you hurt yourself and he will be upset. He will wonder what he could have done, he will worry, he will love you and your fucked up self anyway, and you don't deserve that, God knows he doesn't deserve that. The pain is so much though, your skin is stinging for release. Fuck you and your addictive personality to hell. Fuck. You're still kind of high and that means your impulse control is even shittier than it normally is, it is NOT helping this. Fuck.

You text your boyfriend a single word, praying to God that he understands.

_help_

and then you try to control the urges, wait for him. Hoping at the same time that he's not freaking out because all you could manage was a one word plea for his assistance. He'd found you in a worse state one night in the past. Though that time was different because you'd never even gotten to sending one word, just to a bottle of painkillers that weren't made out to you and a razor blade..

He arrives less than ten minutes later and he _is_ freaking out, but after he takes a look at you and realises you haven't taken a bottle of pills and you aren't lying in a pool of your own blood on the bathroom floor, he quickly calms. He finds you in your bedroom with tears staining your face and a yet unused razor sitting next to you. Just in time because you weren't sure how much longer you could hold out. The first thing he does is swoop in next to you and hold you close to him. He also throws the razor across the room, but it's okay that he does that because he's here now, he's here now, and you still want to hurt yourself, but he's here and you don't have to.

You're whimpering slightly and he shushes you. He runs his hands through your tangled blond hair and tries to calm your frantic need. Need. Need. Need. Need. He holds your hands in closed fists when you try to scratch at your forearms. He does everything he can to hold you together when all you want to do is tear yourself apart. Being the glue of this majorly fucked up situation, someone has to be. 

Eventually when you've calmed down and stopped shaking so much he takes your hand and leads you to the living room. You're asked what movie you want to watch and you tell him to pick whatever he wants. It's 2am. The movie is soothing. Karkat holds your hands closed in your lap when you try to rub friction burns into the back of your hands with your nails. Another movie is put in. He whispers how proud he is that you were so strong and let him help instead of hurting yourself, you cry because it doesn't feel strong, not at all, and he understands. It is 5am.

You fall asleep with your head in his lap. You wake up a few hours later to the smell of pancakes. What's the best way to wrap up a night of taking care of your fucked up boyfriend? Fucking pancakes apparently. You kiss him and smile against his lips while he pours the syrup. 

You don't think you've ever loved someone quite so much as you do him. God, do you love him.

The next time a bad night rears its ugly head and you go for your packet of blades you find them wrapped over and over with a large amount of packing tape with Karkat's number written in sharpie across the front and the message: "Call Me Fuckface" scrawled out under it

You do, choking laughter through your sobs. He shows up right on time with a movie in his hand.

You are not okay, but you are not bleeding on the bathroom floor. You are not happy, but you are sure as hell not alone in your sadness.

As another night draws itself to a close in his arms, you think maybe you can handle this.


End file.
